The Elven

by Bernhard Hennen

  “Obilee,” said Nuramon a second time and looked the elf up and down. She was smiling, but her smile could not mask the melancholy in her eyes. “You’ve turned into a beautiful woman, just as Noroelle said you would.”

  Farodin was looking at the very image of the great Danee standing before him. When she was younger, there had only been the vaguest of similarities, but now she was barely distinguishable from her grandmother. He had seen Danee for the first time at court. He had been a child at the time, but he still remembered very clearly the awe he felt when her eyes briefly met his. “Now I see it, too. You wear some part of Danee’s aura, as Noroelle always said you did.”

  Obilee nodded. “It seems Noroelle was right.”

  Farodin looked down to the orchard. “Is she down below?”

  The young elf avoided his eye. “No, she isn’t in the orchard.” When she looked at him again, there were tears in her eyes. “She isn’t here anymore.”

  Farodin and Nuramon exchanged an uneasy look. Farodin thought of the thirty lost years. Could Noroelle have believed anything other than that they were dead? Had she left the queen’s court and retreated into some lonely existence?

  Nuramon thought of the silence that had hung over the Royal Hall. Everyone in there had known something. What could have happened to make Obilee so mournful? Not death, for after death came rebirth. It had to be something more painful, and the very thought made Nuramon afraid.

  “Noroelle knew it,” said Obilee. “She knew you’d return one day.”

  Farodin and Nuramon said nothing.

  “Years have passed, yet you are wearing the same things you wore the day you rode out . . . ,” said Obilee.

  “Obilee? What has happened?” asked Farodin directly.

  “The worst, Farodin. The very worst.”

  Nuramon began to shake. He thought of all they had been through. He had done everything he could to keep his promise.

  Obilee had not the courage to go on, and Farodin asked, “Has Noroelle turned away from us? Has she returned to Alvemer? Is she disappointed?”

  Obilee took a step back and took a deep breath. “No . . . hear my words. They are the words Noroelle spoke the night she went away.” Obilee raised her eyes to the sky. “‘I knew you would return. And now you are there and hearing the fate that has befallen me.’” She spoke the words as if she were Noroelle. In its melody, her voice captured every nuance and emotion. “‘Do not think poorly of me when you find out what I have done and where my fate has taken me. Not long after you left Albenmark, I had a dream. In it, you came to visit me, Nuramon, and we made love. A year later, I gave birth to a son. I thought the boy was your child, Nuramon, but I was wrong. It wasn’t you who came to me in the night. It was the Devanthar you had gone to hunt in the Other World.’”

  Nuramon and Farodin caught their breath. The mere thought that the Devanthar had been able to get close to Noroelle was intolerable.

  Farodin thought of the battle in the cave. The demon had made it too easy for them. Now he knew why. Had it all been a sham? Had the Devanthar only ever been searching for a way to get to Noroelle?

  Nuramon shook his head in disbelief. The beast had taken on his form to seduce Noroelle. It had exploited her love. She had dreamed of him, and the Devanthar had used that to get close to her and . . .

  Obilee took hold of Nuramon’s hand, drawing him out of his painful musing. “‘Nuramon, don’t be hard on yourself. The demon wore your face, and I allowed myself to be seduced by your countenance, your body. But don’t think for a moment that I feel any contempt or disgust because of that. I love you even more than I did before. Condemn the Devanthar, not yourself. It turned what we feel for each other against us. Only when we stand up for what we are and what we feel, only then can what it did fade away. Its deed will pale to insignificance. Do not blame yourself.’” Obilee looked at him as if she were waiting for some kind of reaction. There was a pleading in her eyes that he could not resist. He sighed heavily and nodded.

  Now Obilee took Farodin’s hand. “‘And you, Farodin, do not believe that I had already made my choice. I had not settled secretly on Nuramon. That is not why the demon came to me.’”

  “But where are you, Noroelle?” Farodin asked, as though the woman he loved could actually hear his words. He was perplexed.

  Obilee smiled and tilted her head to one side, as Noroelle herself had so often done. But her eyes could not hide her sadness. “‘I knew that you would ask this question, Farodin. The single spark you entrusted to me that night, that one glimpse into your innermost soul was enough for me to know you as I had always wished I could. I can read what is inside you as surely as I can read Nuramon’s face. So where am I? It will hurt you to hear it, for I am in a place where no one will ever be able to reach me. The queen has banished me from Albenmark for all eternity. There are barriers between us that you are not able to break down. All I have left is the memory, the memory of the night before you rode out, when both of you left me with so much. You, Farodin, revealed to me the radiance of your true being. And you, Nuramon, touched me for the first time.’”

  Obilee stopped speaking for a moment. She seemed hesitant, but after a little while, she continued. “‘You should also know why I was banished. The child I bore had round ears, and the queen recognized it as a demon child. She saw in it the child of the Devanthar. I was ordered to appear at court with my son three nights after the birth. But the queen sent Dijelon and his soldiers that same night to kill the child. I took him to the Other World, to a place that the queen would have great difficulty finding. And when I stood before Emerelle, I refused to reveal where he had found refuge. Forgive me if you can, for I saw nothing evil in the eyes of the child. Now you know what taints me, but it does not have to taint you as well. Forgive me for acting so foolishly.’” Obilee began to cry, for Noroelle, too, back then, had been unable to hold back her tears. “‘Please remember those lovely years we spent together. There was nothing about either of you that was bad or wrong, and nothing happened that we have to regret. Whatever may come, don’t forget me . . . please don’t forget me.’” Obilee could hold back her own emotions no longer.

  “Those were Noroelle’s own words,” she said, her voice tear choked, and she pressed her face into Nuramon’s shoulder. Nuramon looked at Farodin and saw his face expressionless as a mask. No tears, no stir of emotion, not the slightest sign of sadness. Nuramon himself could hardly comprehend what Obilee had said. It was too much to cope with all at once.

  But what Farodin saw in Nuramon’s eyes and on his face was everything he himself was feeling inside. All the tears, all the agony. It seemed to him as if his feelings had divorced themselves from his body. He stood there, unable to understand why he could not weep as well.

  It was a long time before Obilee had herself back under control. “Forgive me. I did not think it would be so painful. I’ve carried those words inside me all these years . . . words that Noroelle spoke to a child and that you are now hearing from a woman.” Obilee turned away and walked over to the edge of the terrace. She picked up something from the railing and returned to them. “I have a final gift from Noroelle to give to you.” She opened her hands and showed them an almandine and an emerald. “These are stones from her lake. They are meant to remind you of her.”

  Farodin took the emerald and thought of the lake. Noroelle had once told him that the magic of the spring would cause the stones to grow.

  Nuramon touched the almandine where it lay in Obilee’s hand. He hesitated, stroking the smooth surface of the red-brown stone with his fingertips. He sensed magic . . . Noroelle’s magic.

  “I can feel her, too,” said Obilee. “She gave me such a gift as well.” She wore a diamond on a chain around her neck.

  Nuramon took the almandine in his hand and felt its soft magic. That was all that remained to him of Noroelle: the warmth and the breath of magic of this gift.
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  Obilee withdrew from them. “I have to go now,” she said. “Forgive me. I need to be alone.”

  Farodin and Nuramon watched her as she left the terrace.

  “She carried that pain inside her for thirty years,” said Nuramon. “If these few days felt like an eternity to us, then she has lived through thousands of eternities.”

  “So this is how it ends,” said Farodin. He could not believe it. Everything in his life had been built around Noroelle. There were many things he could have imagined happening, that he might die, that Noroelle would choose Nuramon, but he had never thought that something like this could . . .

  “How it ends?” Nuramon seemed unprepared to accept that. No, this was not the end. It was the beginning, the beginning of an impossible journey. Some say that one should not tempt fate too often, but he would do everything in his power to find Noroelle and set her free. “I will speak to the queen,” he said.

  “She won’t listen to you.”

  “We’ll see,” Nuramon said as he turned to leave.

  “Wait!”

  “Why? What do I have to lose? And you should ask yourself how far you are willing to go for her.” With those words, Nuramon disappeared into the palace.

  “To the end of all the worlds,” whispered Farodin to himself, and thought of Aileen.

  Three Faces

  The door to the Royal Hall stood open. Nuramon could see the queen at the far end, beside her bowl of water. He was about to enter the hall when Master Alvias suddenly blocked his path. “Where are you going, Nuramon?”

  “I want to speak to the queen about Noroelle, to ask for clemency,” Nuramon replied.

  “One should not set foot in this hall in anger.”

  “Are you afraid that I might raise my hand against Emerelle?”

  Master Alvias looked down at him. “No.”

  “Then let me pass.”

  Alvias half turned and looked to the queen, who nodded. “She will receive you,” he said reluctantly. “But keep a tight rein on your emotions.” So saying, Master Alvias stepped aside.

  While Nuramon strode quickly through the hall, he heard the door being closed behind him. The queen moved down and stood before the steps that rose to her throne. Her face was an image of calm and good. For Nuramon, Emerelle had never before looked more like the mother of all the Albenkin.

  Nuramon felt his anger ebb. The queen stood silently and looked at him as she had on the night she had visited him in his room and boosted his courage. He thought of the counsel of the oracle that she had shared with him and which had meant so much to him.

  “I know what you are thinking, Nuramon,” said the queen. “I appreciate that you have not yet learned to hide your feelings.”

  “And until now, I have always thought highly of your sense of justice. You know that Noroelle is not capable of doing anything evil or reprehensible.”

  “Did Obilee tell you what happened?”

  “Yes.”

  “Forget for a moment that Noroelle is your beloved, then tell me that she is free of blame.”

  “She is what I love most. How am I supposed to forget that?”

  “Then you cannot understand why I had to do it.”

  “I am not here to understand. I am here to plead for mercy.”

  “The queen has never revoked a verdict.”

  “Then banish me to wherever Noroelle is. At least grant me this mercy.”

  “No, Nuramon. That I will not do. I cannot banish one who is innocent.”

  And what was Noroelle? Wasn’t she herself more victim than culprit? She had been deceived, and for that had to atone. Wasn’t it up to Emerelle to put all her powers to work to punish the true perpetrator? “Where is the Devanthar?” Nuramon asked, changing his tactics.

  “It fled into the human world. No one can say in what form it has disguised itself. Only one thing is certain. It is the last of its kind. And it is plotting against us, planning our downfall. The core of that creature is revenge.”

  “Would Noroelle’s guilt be less if we track down and destroy the demon?”

  “The Devanthar has played its game. Now it is waiting to see what comes of it.”

  Nuramon felt his despair rising. “But what can we do? There must be something we can do.”

  “There is something . . . but the question is whether you are prepared to do it.”

  “Whatever you ask. I will promise anything to ensure Noroelle goes free.”

  “A bold vow, Nuramon.” The queen hesitated. “I will take you at your word. Choose your companions and find Noroelle’s child. Keep in mind that he is a man now. Many have already searched for him, all without success. You are not the first to ride out in search of him. But perhaps you will enjoy more luck . . . You have the incentive you will need to find the demon’s child.”

  “Noroelle feared for the life of her son. Will we also have to?”

  Emerelle looked at Nuramon and said nothing for a long time. “Noroelle had the choice. She chose eternal condemnation because she shielded the child of a Devanthar.”

  “How can I bring myself to do what she was not able to?”

  “Are your promises always so short-lived?” Emerelle asked in reply. “If I am to free Noroelle, then you and your companions must kill her child.”

  “How can you torment me like this?” replied Nuramon quietly.

  “Think of the guilt that can be ascribed to you and your companions. You failed in your quest, and because of that, the beast was able to find a way to Noroelle. It took your form, abused Noroelle, and created this child. And Noroelle could not give up the child because she could not stop herself from thinking that you were the boy’s father and that he carried your soul. She even gave him your name. You would be doing it not only for Noroelle, but also for yourself and for the sake of your companions.”

  Nuramon wavered. He could not close his eyes to the truth of what she said. He was certain that he could never murder a child. But Noroelle’s son had long since grown to be a man. No doubt his true nature had already revealed itself. “I will find Noroelle’s son and kill him.”

  “Then I will select companions for you among our best soldiers. What about Farodin? He will certainly accompany you.”

  “No. I will accept the help of your soldiers, but I will not ask Farodin to join me. When Noroelle returns, she will hate me for killing her child, and justifiably. There will be no blood on Farodin’s hands. She will find the love she deserves in his arms.”

  “Very well. That is your decision. But you will certainly have nothing against accepting horses from my stable. Choose any you want, to suit you and those who ride with you.”

  “I will do that, my queen.”

  Emerelle stepped close to him. She gazed at him now with a look of deep sympathy. A calming fragrance surrounded her. “All of us have to follow our fate, wherever it may lead. But it is up to us to decide how we tread that path. Trust in the words of advice I gave you that night. They are no less valid today. Whatever they may say about you in the future, no one can ever say you betrayed the one you love. Now go and rest in your chamber. The elfhunt has returned. You should take the time you need to recuperate. You can decide for yourself when you want to go out again. This time, you will not ride as an elfhunt, but only in the service of the queen.”

  Nuramon thought of the armor Emerelle had given him. “I would like to return the armor, the cloak, and the sword.”

  “I see that the dragon scale and the cloak have served you well. Leave them in your chamber, as is the custom. The sword should remain yours. It is a gift.” Emerelle stood on the tips of her toes and kissed him on the forehead. “Now go, and have faith in your queen.”

  Nuramon did as she said. He looked back at her one more time before he left the Royal Hall. She was smiling pleasantly. When he was outside again and standing before
the others, he could not comprehend the turn their conversation had taken. Emerelle had received him like a caring mother, judged him like a hard-hearted queen, then sent him on his way like a good friend.

  Three Grains of Sand

  Farodin leaned his forehead against the wall. A sliver of light fell through into the secret passage that led onto the balcony in front of the queen’s chamber. He was not supposed to be here.

  He was wearing an inconspicuous gray doublet, close-fitting gray trousers, and a gray hooded cloak. On his hands he wore thin leather gloves, around his waist a broad belt, and on his arms bracers with sheaths for daggers. He hoped he would not have to use the weapons. Far below, deep in the labyrinth of hidden stairways and passages, he heard the laughter of the kobolds, an entire generation of which had grown up since the day that Noroelle had been judged guilty.

  Farodin balled his hands into fists in his helpless rage. The pain was still too fresh. He had served the queen so many times as her covert executioner, and never had he doubted her higher understanding of what was right and just. He had never even considered the possibility that her secret death sentences might be nothing more than caprice. Now her judgment had destroyed his own life, though he still stood and breathed.

  No one knew Noroelle the way he knew her. No one knew that she had once been Aileen, his Aileen, who had lost her life in a battle against the trolls. He had searched for her for centuries, and now that he had found her, she had been torn away from him again. But this time, he could not hope for Aileen’s rebirth. Were Noroelle to die in exile, there would be no way back. Her soul would be trapped in that place forever.

  Tears of fury streamed down Farodin’s cheeks. Noroelle had been deceived by a Devanthar, a creature known to be a master of deception. And the demon had fed on her love.

  Why had the beast taken Nuramon’s form? Farodin tried in vain to hold down his growing suspicion. Had the Devanthar perhaps known something? Would Noroelle have chosen Nuramon when the elfhunt returned? Had her words to Obilee been no more than a way to console him, spoken lightly in the certainty that she would never see either of them again?